Road Trip
by Wraithfodder
Summary: A UFO investigation leaves Hynek and Quinn stranded on a rural road - until a very unusual savior comes along.


**Road Trip**

A _Project Blue Book_ story by wraithfodder

"Stupid piece of-" Quinn hit the recalcitrant item in front of him, regret flooding through him as he let loose with a litany of words definitely not suited for polite company. He clenched his fist, now throbbing from striking solid metal.

"Captain, you're repeating yourself," came Hynek's droll voice from behind the massive car hood.

"Well, then _you_ get out here and fix this damned engine," Quinn sniped back. Of all the lousy places for the rental car to break down, right in the middle of a long stretch of deserted road in the middle of a wretched heatwave, and, of course, no shade from what spindly trees did dot the empty landscape _and_ it was just past noon _and_ all there wasn't one damn cloud in the too-bright sky. Quinn shook out his bruised hand, making sure his fingers still worked properly. At least he didn't cut himself as he was already sweating enough that he was beginning to think back on military training about dehydration and heat-related illnesses.

"Did you—" began Hynek.

"Of course I did." Quinn stood up from where he'd been leaning over the engine, banging the back of his head into the heavy car hood. "Shit!" He rubbed at the new sore spot on his head. Add concussion to the injury count, he thought bleakly. He let his gaze wander depressingly across the scenery. Flat land, scrubby grass, pitiful trees. Not even a billboard advertising alluring vacations in Florida. "And no, we're not walking back, at least until the sun goes down. I'm in no mood to die of heatstroke. I really want to save my energy for strangling that damn rental car clerk for giving us this lemon."

There was no response from Hynek, which was strange, and suddenly, worrisome. Quinn came around the front of the large black car and swung the driver's door wide open. The man whom he thought might have passed out from the heat was definitely not unconscious. He may have shucked his own jacket, his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, but he was definitely alive and intently writing in his notebook.

"I'm writing our case report." Hynek didn't bother to look up.

"_Now_?"

Except for a brief arched eyebrow, Hynek ignored the hostile tone. "Yes. You sound like you're—" He paused, as if seeking a word that wouldn't tick off an already irritable Quinn. "Um, handling the problem."

"Which is unfixable without the proper tools and spare parts," groused Quinn. "Didn't you learn anything from the Encyclopedia Britannica about jury-rigging new parts? You seem to do that a lot."

"Not with cars." Hynek shrugged. "I just take it to a mechanic."

"Well, I'm done with it." Quinn plopped down into the driver's seat and leaned back, at least getting his head out of the sun's blistering rays. He'd tossed his suit jacket on the back seat when they'd left the small town of Auburn. When the car broke down on the desolate stretch of road, his tie and shirt were added to the pile. It wasn't as hot in the undershirt, plus grease stains didn't matter on it, but he knew he was going to end up with a sunburn somewhere at the rate things were going.

"You know, before I strangle the rental car guy, I'm going to sidetrack over to that idiot who couldn't tell a water tower from a UFO and thought a goat was an alien," Quinn decided, crossing his arms against his chest. There, out of the sun, until it came around, then maybe he'd take over the back seat before Hynek thought of it.

"Not everybody knows what a goat sounds like," countered Hynek.

"A goat is what the rental clerk is going to sound like when I strangle him."

"Captain, you're becoming rather obsessed with killing someone who just had you sign forms," Hynek sighed as he put down his pen. "It's not like he's the mechanic, too."

"This case has just been a colossal waste of time." Quinn let his head loll back in defeat and he stared up at the car's ceiling. "The generals are getting annoyed when these cases don't pan out."

"But they don't want UFOs to be real." Hynek fanned himself with the journal, his first real concession to the oppressive heat.

"It's not that, it's the expense," explained Quinn, thinking back to one contentious call from Harding about that issue. Blue Book's budget had never been big but now with two people on the cases, there seemed to be more expenses. "Airplane tickets, rental cars, hotels." _Didn't even want to think of that wrecked fighter in Fargo but that really hadn't been his fault. _Quinn pondered a second and held up a finger to make his point. "Incidentals. I told you not to order room service."

"I was hungry. How was I to know it would cost _that_ much?" said Hynek defensively.

"Next time just eat a candy bar." Candy bar? Quinn snapped his head up. "Do we still have that Mars bar?"

Hynek pulled his battered briefcase off the passenger side floor and rifled through the copious sheaf of papers that he'd stuffed in there. "It's in here somewhere." A second later, he stopped mid-sorting, an alarmed crossing his face. "Oh oh."

"Oh oh _what_?" Quinn's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You didn't eat it, did you?" Not that the candy bar was government property or anything. He'd just grabbed it at one of their stops and tossed it into the car as an afterthought.

"No," said Hynek very deliberately. "You'd left it on the seat so I remember I put it, uh…"

"Where?" Great. He put it on top of the car and it flew off?

"Glove compartment."

"Shit."

"Do you not know any other words?" Hynek actually sounded annoyed.

"Not today I don't." Quinn reached over and popped open the glove compartment. A waft of hot air flowed out as though a heater had been turned on. There was the glorious Mars bar, unopened in its shiny silver wrapper, atop a battered owner's manual and some road maps. He grabbed it, instantly realizing the candy bar was quite warm. In fact, it was warm _and _mushy feeling, like a freshly runover squirrel. It even draped limply over his fingers like a dead animal. He had the feeling that if he ripped open the silver packaging, liquid chocolate and goo would just flow everywhere like lava.

"Maybe we can wait till it cools a little and solidifies," offered Hynek hopefully.

"When? In December?" Quinn placed the bar carefully on the back seat out of the direct line of the sun's brutal rays. Just in case they were stuck there for a while. He was hungry, but eating that, he realized, would just make him thirsty and water was in short supply. No, it was totally absent. He turned back around, only to find a large paper cup thrust in his face.

"Still have some left." Hynek shook it, the sound of liquid sloshing around. The ice had long ago melted since they'd stopped at a tiny cluster of stores a couple hours back. "Figured since you've been out in the sun, you'll need this more than me."

"Thanks." Quinn drained the warm liquid in a few fast gulps, then made a face as he looked into the cup. Rivulets of what looked like neon orange juice trickled down to the cup's bottom. "This stuff is disgusting. What is it?"

"Orange Nehi." Hynek shrugged. "Joel loves it, thought I'd try it and well, it's okay."

Quinn wondered if he could wring the last drop out of the paper cup, vile flavor or not. "Where's the map?"

Hynek pulled it out of the glove compartment and spread the slightly crumpled paper map between them on the car's bench seat. He pointed a finger unerringly at a spot on the map. "I estimate we're here, and the next town is there." He let his finger move to the destination spot.

"About four miles. Easy walk." Quinn noticed Hynek's concerned expression. "After the sun goes down, otherwise we'll end up looking worse than that candy bar."

Quinn sighed. He grabbed the map and spread it over his legs. While it reflected some of the light up at his face, he could shut his eyes. What it definitely did was cut down on the heat absorbing into his pants' legs. The dark fabric was like a magnet to the heat. Shutting the car door only trapped the heat inside, and if anybody drove by, they'd be more likely to stop if the car's occupants looked to be in distress. Not that they were, well, in _distress_. Just somewhat screwed at the moment. Distressed was _not_ what you were supposed to be when you had aced survival courses in the military. He'd never live it down if he died of dehydration or heatstroke on some rural road.

"Car," said Hynek.

"Yes, we're in a car. A sweltering hot car but it's cooler than outside," agreed Quinn, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes.

"No." Hynek jabbed him in the arm lightly with the pen. "Car."

"Ow." Quinn looked over, about to say something he'd really regret, when a flash of movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention. "It's a car."

"That's what I said." Hynek was clearly exasperated.

Quinn was out of the driver's seat in a flash, the map cascading down to the car floor. The deep green car approached in the same lane as their dead vehicle, moving over to the opposite lane to pass. It slowed down cautiously on its approach. Quinn abruptly realized that he did not exactly look like the most trustworthy person for whom someone would stop and render aid, let alone offer a ride. Dirty, sweat-soaked undershirt, sunburned. Maybe not the latter but the back of his neck sure felt like it.

The car rolled to a stop just a few feet away. The driver reached across the front seat, rolled down the passenger window, then cocked their head. "Do you need help, dear?" came a feminine voice.

Quinn stared. He was sure his jaw had dropped open, maybe even dislocated in the process. Heatstroke, had to be. He really couldn't recall if hallucinations were part of that medical condition. The driver stared blankly at him, waiting patiently for a reply - the driver with a bizarre oblong green head, complete with large elongated bulbous black eyes and a tiny immobile slit for a mouth. Two smaller green aliens of similar persuasion seemed to bob up and down in the back seat, making squealing noises.

Hynek came around their car and stopped next to Quinn. He almost tripped over his own feet when he spied the car's bizarre occupants.

"Ohhhhhhh." The alien driver placed hands on the strange head and removed it with a quick pull. A woman in her mid-60s, with shoulder length wavy brown hair, smiled at them in a friendly manner that reminded Quinn of the stereotypical neighbor next door currently in vogue on TV comedies. "Sorry to startle you, but we were getting in the mood and the grandchildren thought it would it be fun." She waved a hand toward the two smaller 'aliens', who kept on their masks. "We're hoping to win the contest."

"Contest?" repeated Hynek.

"Why yes, the best alien costume wins!" She beamed as she held up the intricate alien face mask. "Made these for myself and the boys."

"We're Martians!" squawked one of the tiny aliens in the back seat.

"Very good work," said Quinn, recovering quickly from his initial reaction. Yeah, he'd had to have spent way too much time in the heat to be startled by masks, particularly since everything from the neck down screamed 'human.' Martians didn't wear red and blue plaid dresses or have way too much jewelry on their wrists, and besides, Martians _weren't_ even real.

"Our car broke down," Hynek offered quickly. "We tried fixing it."

"Yes, indeed it does look like your friend tried to do just that," the woman noted with an arched eyebrow.

Quinn had to smirk a little on her astute observation while Hynek did his best not to look flustered. "Yes, ma'am. Not fixable," he said in his best polite military tone. "We'd appreciate a lift into the next town, or if you could send back a tow truck."

"A lift it will be," she decided on the spot. "You can't stay out here for hours. You'll die of the heat. My name is Marge. Marge Crickle."

Quinn introduced himself and Hynek, but left out the Blue Book part as that usually lead to more questions than necessary. Most people were satisfied with the Air Force explanation.

"Are you headed into Hazelton for the premiere?" she asked.

"No." Quinn wondered what she was talking about but shoved any further thought of it aside. "We were in Auburn for some work and were just headed to the airport."

"Well, when we get to town, I'll drop you off at Blackwell's Garage," said Marge. "He can get a tow out and probably get your car fixed by tomorrow."

Quinn did the mental calculations. They'd have to find a place to stay in town because they'd already missed their flight, which of course was the last one of the day. Then he'd have to shell out for car repairs, then when they returned the rental, they'd probably have to argue out reimbursement of the repair costs. They'd have to rebook the plane reservations. All because of a goat.

"What premiere are you talking about?" asked Hynek.

"_War of the Worlds_," Marge replied with an eager smile.

Quinn and Hynek exchanged a tired look. That explained the whole Martian thing. It was going to be a long day.

Once they placed their meager luggage in the trunk, Marge shifted the car into gear and headed down the road for Hazelton, population 500 and change. She explained that everybody was pretty excited for the movie, what with all the flying saucers in the news these days. It was possible that their car might not even get towed until after the movie ended and there was talk about an after-movie party at the Ice Cream Parlor.

The trip into town was uneventful. Hynek had snagged the passenger seat up front, leaving Quinn to sit in the rear with the two children, or Martians, as they insisted on calling themselves. They refused to get out of character. It took only seconds for one of them to crawl over him as though he were an inanimate object, then corral him into the center of the seat. "Windows are _ours_," one of the kids intoned seriously from behind the mask.

Once in town, Marge dropped them off at the garage and let them know where the hotel was located. When Quinn explained what he was pretty certain had happened to the car, the lanky mechanic had nodded seriously and said he'd go out and retrieve the vehicle, but _he'd_ determine the cause of the _damage_. Quinn had the awful feeling 'damage' was not damage to the car but to his wallet.

As Marge predicted, it definitely seemed that everybody in the area was rather interested in the latest end-of-the-world flying saucer movie, so only one room remained at the hotel. At least the room was a double so they wouldn't have to flip a coin for who got stuck sleeping on the floor. It didn't matter that the view out the window was a parking lot desperately in need of weeding, as well as a dented dumpster taking up two parking spaces.

Quinn was thankful to clean up after spending so long in the miserable heat. A long, cool shower and he felt human again. At least the back of his neck hadn't turned lobster red, just a tender shade of pink but he knew once he was back in uniform it would be annoying to have a collar chafe on that patch of skin. Unfortunately, the autumn weather had abruptly segued into an unexpected early Indian summer during their trip so he hadn't packed for hot weather, but at least he had another clean set of clothes.

While Hynek took a shower, Quinn called up the Blue Book office, luckily catching Faye and letting her know the situation. All was quiet there so at least there was that. She'd take care of rebooking the flight. He'd already called the rental car firm, prepared to rain hell down on them for giving them a clunker, but the person who answered the phone was quite apologetic and said they could get a replacement car out to Quinn no later than eight in the morning the next day. The rental firm would also call the garage and handle the repairs and any payments. Seeing as how Faye was booking them an afternoon flight, that meant they could have a leisurely breakfast before departing.

The hotel was old and lacked air conditioning. The ceiling fan did a decent job of circulating air but after hours spent stuck on a hot road, Quinn was looking forward to a cooler place to hang around. They had hours to kill and watching Hynek write up the case report would be like watching paint dry. He looked at his watch, figured they could get a late lunch then join the crowd at the theater for the early showing. A theatre which had precisely what he desired: air conditioning.

"Why not?" Quinn had pushed when Hynek looked at him like he was crazy. "Have you even seen one of these movies? I haven't and well, it's like _research_," Quinn said, careful to emphasize the last word.

The word 'research' seemed to definitely pique Hynek's scientific curiosity so he agreed.

A nearby diner had decent food and judging by the buzz of some of the other customers there, many of them were going to see the movie as well. Quinn could understand that; on the drive through town, he hadn't spotted anything that looked remotely interesting to do once the sun set. If the town had a bar, he certainly hadn't spotted it.

They arrived at the Piedmont Theater midway through the costume contest that Marge had mentioned. The local press was there, a photographer taking multiple pictures of the various contestants standing under the gaudy neon marquee. Quinn studied the large movie poster encased in glass behind the contestants. Huge alien spaceships laid waste to a city with bright green death rays. Probably not the best movie to take kids to but that was up to the parents.

The entrants to the contest were mostly children, but a few adults participated as well. Some costumes were simply Martian 'faces' drawn on paper and held up by the child or adult, or 'aliens with antennas.' It was amusing listening to Hynek's running commentary on what worked, what didn't, when it came to the alien appearances. Quinn nudged him in the side. "Hey, we're off the clock. Just enjoy it."

When Marge and her two grandkids came up to show off their alien face masks, Quinn and Hynek added some extra cheering for them. She hadn't accepted any payment for taking them into town so it was the least they could do for her. He wasn't sure if that added noise helped, but when the judges made their decision, Marge and the two little energetic aliens won hands down. Free ice cream at the Ice Cream Parlor. For the kids, that was obviously heaven on earth.

The theater filled up quickly, the audience members talking excitedly amongst themselves. Hynek chose their seats off to the side, he explained, so he could observe the vast majority of the audience. Quinn rolled his eyes, not that anybody could see his reaction in the darkened theater. The generals still weren't happy with the way Hollywood was churning out science fiction movies, and quite frankly, he could see their point. A movie comes out, next thing you know people were seeing flying saucers, or aliens, or goats that they thought were aliens. This movie was based on the infamous 1938 radio show that had had far too many people actually _believing_ Martians had invaded Earth and a few people still thought it had been real and that the government was covering it up.

The movie had barely begun before Hynek began scribbling furiously in his notebook. Quinn watched the screen, munching on popcorn, recognizing real war footage because the producers probably couldn't afford to replicate that in a Hollywood studio. He'd opted for the full movie experience, a big tub of popcorn and a too sugary soda, something he hadn't done in forever. Now all he needed was a date. Hynek was an incredibly poor substitute. Quinn idly wondered what kind of movies Hynek saw with his wife. Somehow, he couldn't see the professor sitting through _Singing in the Rain_ or a western like _Hondo_.

The movie progressed. Hynek quietly groused about the authenticity of the so-called 'meteor'. Quinn decided gazing at his popcorn for a moment was better than staring at the three charred outlines of the expendable characters left behind to watch the meteor and who were then immolated by the Martian death ray. The ash outlines were a bit too similar to cremated remains he'd seen at the concentration camp back in the war. Fortunately, the fantasy of alien spaceships shooting laser beams left and right were easier to watch because they were simply nonsensical. The Martian with its three fingers looked even more ridiculous.

The audience, however, was reacting in just the manner that Hollywood desired. Women were hugging close to their boyfriends or husbands. Kids were occasionally shrieking. Everybody's eyes, if not covered with hands here and there, were otherwise riveted to the Technicolor images of doom and disaster flashing across the large theater screen.

"Well, that's familiar," Hynek muttered under his breath as the hero and heroine crawled basically unharmed out of the small airplane wreckage. _Would the Doc ever let him forget the plane crash on their first case together?_

The movie wasn't bad, decided Quinn, and it was definitely entertaining and would probably do well in the box office, much to the generals' consternation. What he found oddly amusing was how the lead scientist hero was just as stubborn as Hynek. In the end it wasn't the military who'd saved everyone but the Martians getting wiped out by the common cold, as had occurred in the original radio play, and the book before that. Judging from the murmurings in the audience, a lot of folk seemed to have totally forgotten that the movie was based on pure fiction. No, this film would just stoke the fire of UFO sightings and superfluous paranoia.

Which didn't take long at all.

The young mother of a family sitting across the aisle from them was busy telling her son, who looked to be eight or so, that no, the aliens weren't going to destroy their house. The kid wasn't buying it, judging by his audible sniffles. Hynek leaned over his seat arm. "This movie is just fiction," he assured the boy with a smile. "There's nothing to worry about."

"How would you know?" piped up a man's aggravated voice from a couple of rows back. "They just spotted one of 'em a few towns over a couple of days ago." A few more people around him murmured their uneasy concurrence.

"Which town?" asked Hynek.

"Auburn," said someone else a few rows away.

"Ah, well, I can confirm that that was no flying saucer," Hynek said confidently. "In fact, we just came back from investigating that alleged sighting. It was merely a misidentification due to weather anomalies."

"What?" clamored more voices from around the semi-darkened theater. Quinn noticed a little uneasily that the people seated in the row in front of them had turned their attention sharply to Hynek. "Who are you?" demanded another voice from somewhere across the aisle. Even a few people who had already stood up to leave had stopped in their tracks and turned around.

Hynek stood up, notebook and pen still grasped in one hand. "My name is Dr. Hynek, and I work for the Air Force's Project Blue Book, along with my colleague, Captain Quinn." He gestured his hand back toward Quinn, who felt he had no option but to stand up and nod dutifully in acknowledgement. Quinn noticed some people return to their seats; their eyes glued intently on Hynek as though he were a new bonus segment of the evening's entertainment.

"We investigate these so-called flying saucer sightings all the time," Hynek continued as though he were lecturing at university. "Just to clarify, the alleged incident in Auburn and the potential sighting of an alien, was merely the result of one overworked individual's misperception of a water tower, along with certain weather anomalies and the position of the moon."

"But what about the alien?" A woman's worried voice sounded from far over on the other aisle.

"That was a goat," added Quinn. "Apparently the individual had never heard one before. It had escaped from a farm and ended up in the man's backyard at midnight."

There was a small ripple of voices from the rapt audience. Hynek took advantage of the obvious interest and abruptly headed toward the front of the theater. Quinn sighed, abandoning his half-eaten bucket of popcorn and followed Hynek, not sure what the other man was up to but within minutes the professor was in his element. The talk was similar to some of Hynek's spiels to the generals and that, combined with his expert skills as a lecturer, soon had the audience enthralled. It didn't take long at all to put the entire Auburn incident to rest, then Hynek went into a broad and rather simple dissection of why Martians, which didn't exist anyway, wouldn't invade Earth and blow up towns. That scenario seemed to be the main concern of the children who were in the audience.

The lecture lasted several minutes until Hynek decided to take questions from the audience as though he were teaching a class. He answered the more technical questions while Quinn put on his best smile and charmed the kids with simple replies that the U.S. military would never let aliens get into their bedrooms and steal their toys, which elicited a few chuckles from the adults.

When the questions seemed to run out, Quinn politely ended the session because he knew they'd be kicked out of the theater anyway. He had spied the general manager, a portly man with a thin moustache, standing at the exit door, busily tapping a foot on the carpeted floor and pointing at his watch.

The reporter who had interviewed the contest winners earlier in the evening moved determinedly, like a salmon battling its way upstream, through the throng of departing audience members, toward where Hynek and Quinn still stood. The reporter smiled disarmingly, saying he didn't need to interview them as he had already taken copious notes. What he would like was a photograph of the both of them with the contest winners if they wouldn't mind. The photographer was waiting outside with the winners under the marquee.

What Quinn thought would take one minute took far longer, as the photographer wanted pictures of them with the winners, with the winning masks on, and then off. It didn't help that the two children didn't want to stand still. By the time they were done Quinn wondered if the guy was shooting a spread for _Life_ magazine. He thought for a moment that he should have at least worn a tie. The reporter and photographer dashed off, hoping to make the morning edition with the story.

"It was a pleasure meeting you and your grandchildren," Quinn said to Marge, who had corralled the two rambunctious children around her legs.

"We're going to the Ice Cream Parlor to cash in our winnings," she replied, holding up the tickets. "Would you care to join us?"

The sun had set during the movie, leaving a clear night sky above. Stars began to twinkle softly in the enveloping velvet darkness, but the heat still hadn't gone down enough from the oppressive temperatures of the noon highs. "Ice cream sounds great," he replied quickly.

Hynek seemed to hesitate. "I really should finish the report."

"Doc," Quinn turned to Hynek. "You'll have plenty of time to do that on the drive to the airport and on the plane."

"I suppose- Hey!" Hynek said abruptly, startled. One of the boys had latched onto his left hand like an octopus and began pulling him toward the street.

"Let's go!" the boy said with glee.

"Tommy," admonished Marge gently. "You should ask permission first."

"No, no." A genuine smile enveloped Hynek's face. "It's quite all right. I've got a son at home and I remember when he was little. Ice cream on a hot evening was a big treat. Still is, in fact."

Although the few sparse street lights gently illuminated the town's main street, the bulk of the storefronts were already closed for the evening. Most of the movie's audience had dispersed onto the sidewalks or off into cars and they'd driven home. A light in the distance had to be the ice cream place.

Quinn felt a tiny hand grasp some of his fingers. The smaller of the two boys gazed up at him with a tentative grin. "I'm Ned," and with that pronouncement, the towheaded boy tugged ineffectively at Quinn, who stood firmly in place like a rooted tree. Marge smiled apologetically at her grandchildren's boldness.

"It's fine," said Quinn. "Lead on."

Marge led the way down the narrow sidewalk, looking back occasionally as the boys attempted to charge ahead, but were held back by the two men, who decided that a slow walk was just fine. It also kept the kids from trying to bolt on to the street.

The Ice Cream Parlor was small, but the immaculate white paint job both inside and outside made it somehow seem bigger. A number of the theater patrons had decided to finish off the night's entertainment with a cool treat before heading home. The tables inside were already packed with people enjoying various sundaes and ice cream floats, while the overflow took up most of the few picnic tables outside the front door. Decorative paper flying saucers adorned the windows. Hand-drawn images of 'Martians' were taped above the counter, strung together with green party streamers that looked like leftover items from St. Patrick's Day.

Ned grabbed one of the coveted yellow tickets from his grandmother and reached up, slapping it on the counter. "Vee- Vesubias banana split," he intoned seriously, despite mangling the name. The proprietor, a man in his forties wearing a red bowtie against a plain white shirt, looked down at the child. "Sorry, son. That ticket's good only for an ice cream cone. It doesn't cover the Vesuvius Split."

The boy looked crestfallen, switching his gaze to his grandmother.

"Sorry, Ned," said Marge softly, "but that's what the ticket says."

"Grammy," the boy whined.

"Tell you what." Quinn pulled out his wallet. He removed some cash. "I'll treat the kids to that Vesuvius split in exchange for two of those ice cream cone tickets."

The two boys both stared at their grandmother with expressions that would put any cute puppy to shame. Minutes later, both Ned and Tommy were seated outside at one of the picnic tables, digging into a massive banana split concoction that looked capable of feeding an entire battalion. Quinn came out of the store with three ice cones; vanilla for Marge, orange-pineapple for Hynek, and chocolate for himself. He laid a pile of paper napkins on the table in between them.

"They're never going to be able to finish that." Marge dubiously eyed the large bowl of various scoops of flavored ice cream, three bananas, a massive cascade of hot fudge sauce and probably half a can of whipped cream, topped with far too many bright red maraschino cherries.

"I figured as much." Quinn laid down three long sundae spoons on a napkin. "We can help them along."

Marge nodded thankfully in agreement. She took a spoon and reached over, snatching a bright cherry which she placed atop her vanilla cone. The children didn't even notice.

"So, are movies like this always so popular?" Hynek asked.

Marge carefully licked a dribble of vanilla ice cream off her cone before it could fall off. "I'm not really sure, but I do enjoy them. The last one I saw was, oh, the one with that suave actor? Oh yes, Michael Rennie. _The_ _Day the Earth Stood Still_." Her gaze swept between the two men. "Remarkable how that really did happen, all those UFOs in Washington. My family spent quite a bit of time glued to the radio, I'll tell you. Very exciting, even if they didn't turn out to be UFOs."

Quinn and Hynek shared a quick glance. Months out, that event was still fresh in many people's minds and 'exciting' didn't even begin to cover all that had occurred. Luckily the two children seated at the table didn't seem to care about UFOs, the movie having been totally forgotten once they got the precious ice cream dish, a lot of which was ending up on their faces. Quinn wondered if that pile of napkins would be enough to clean them up.

"You said that some man mistook a goat for…" Marge made a face. "An alien?"

Hynek shook his head. "Well, he never _saw_ the goat, only heard it. Just a misperception."

"The man pulled a 20-hour stint at his job, came home, had a drink or two," added Quinn. _More like five or six drinks, they'd actually found out later_. "Then when he heard the goat, didn't know what it was, went outside, saw the water tower and made the wrong assumption."

"I gather that wouldn't be hard these days," said Marge. "Saw half a dozen of those UFOs myself."

Quinn nearly dropped his ice cream cone on the table.

"Really?" Hynek sounded torn between actual scientific curiosity and wondering if Marge was a crackpot and they just hadn't realized it.

"Oh yes, last Saturday. Was outside hanging the wash on the clothesline when they went whizzing overhead." Marge smiled fondly at the memory. "When I went over to examine the wreckage – they hit the shed, you see – I realized it was Frannie Barnes' wedding china. Her boys Alvin and Fred were playing UFO. I think they're grounded until they're 16. If you ask me, they did her a favor. That china had a dreadful pattern."

"Playing UFO?" Hynek seemed surprised but also very relieved. "We haven't heard that one yet."

"I'm sure the toy companies will market it shortly," replied Quinn. They'd already seen toy UFOs in store windows. Small elliptical aluminum toys edging out the popular cowboy and military toys. All it took was two more bites to finish off his cone. Quinn picked up a spoon and helped himself to some ice cream and as much hot fudge as possible.

The conversation continued, shifting between UFOs, movies and the weather, until the boys just couldn't eat any more. Even Quinn had had more than enough. Hynek had helped make a dent but there still remained a large pool of melted ice cream and congealing fudge. One sad lonely cherry drifted in the cold puddle.

"Wanna sleep," yawned Ned dramatically. He plopped his little head down on the table with a tiny thud. It took only seconds for his brother to repeat the process.

"Oh dear." Marge regarded the exhausted children, no doubt trying to figure out how to get them back to her car and then home. She went over to them and cleaned the ice cream smears off their faces.

"No problem, ma'am." Quinn stood up. "Doc, you grab Ned. I'll take Tommy." Quinn picked up the tired child, who yawned like a cat, and put him against his chest. The boy instantly laid a cheek against Quinn's shoulder and shut his eyes.

The two men carried the children down the street to where Marge had parked her car near the theater. Once the kids were safely stowed in the back seat of the vehicle, Marge turned to the two men. "I can't thank you both enough. The children were thrilled with the ice cream."

"We had a great time, too." Quinn opened the car door for her. "We might still be baking on the road if you hadn't come along."

As Marge settled in behind the wheel of the car, Hynek took a quick look at the children, who were now both fast asleep. "Just out of curiosity, why did you, a woman alone with small children, pick up two strangers on the road?" he asked.

"I'm a very good judge of character." Marge smiled confidently as she started up the car. "And in the rare event that I'm ever off on that assessment…" She let that sentence linger as she reached across to open the glove compartment. From it she withdrew the largest revolver Quinn had ever seen. "I'm a very good shot. Belonged to my late husband."

"Oh," came Hynek's barely audible response.

"I do seem to startle you men a lot." Marge grinned, then put the weapon back into the safety of the glove compartment. She turned back to them, focusing her gaze on Hynek. "Doctor, all I'm going to do with my mask is put it in the closet to gather dust." She picked up the Martian mask off the passenger seat and held it out the car window. "Would your son like this? I mean, I'm not sure how old he is."

"Young enough that he will love it." Hynek gratefully accepted the mask.

Marge grinned in response as she shifted the car into gear. "Have a safe trip home." The car took off down the road, vanishing into the night's darkness within seconds.

Quinn looked down at the mask Hynek held in his hands. "Can I see it?"

"It might be fragile so don't rip it," warned Hynek, suddenly protective of his new prize.

"Stop worrying." Quinn held the mask up to his face. "How on earth did she see while driving? It's pitch black."

"Maybe because it's night," Hynek said dryly.

Quinn turned around till the bright lights of the still lit theater marquee came into view. "Ah, yeah, it's like looking through a screen door." He took it off, studying the details carefully as he held it in his hand. "Sort of an alien Mardi Gras mask." Quinn pondered the idea. "Why don't flying saucers ever show up in New Orleans when Mardi Gras is on? That would be interesting to see."

"How would anybody know the difference?" quipped Hynek.

"You _do_ have a sense of humor." Quinn handed back the mask. "Let's head back. We have an early start tomorrow."

As promised, the replacement rental car was waiting for them in front of the hotel at promptly eight a.m. Quinn was pleasantly surprised, especially when he found out that the rental car guy had already been to the repair shop and taken care of the clunker. Ashmore, the clerk who had brought the new vehicle, gave Quinn a duplicate of the paperwork and would drive the other car, once repaired, back to the lot.

After a leisurely breakfast at a local diner, they loaded up the car. Hynek took special care in packing the mask in a shirt box he'd obtained from the hotel clerk. It would be smooth sailing until they hit the airport, and luckily, the heatwave had dissipated overnight to much more normal temperatures. Quinn put the car in gear and—

"Stop!" Hynek shouted. "I forgot something. Be right back."

The professor was out the passenger door before Quinn could utter even a single word or even bring the vehicle to a complete halt. What was even stranger was that Hynek didn't run back into the hotel; instead, he'd taken a sharp right and dashed down the street. What the hell?

After a moment, Quinn turned off the car. What was down that way? He thought back to what he'd seen on the walk back from the diner. Hardware store, clothier, laundromat, a few stores that were so non-descript he couldn't even remember what they sold.

Quinn lit up a cigarette, snapping the Zippo lighter shut with a hard click. He impatiently drummed fingers against the steering wheel, wondering if he should go search for Hynek, but then, it wasn't as though they'd stepped into some hotbed of Communist sympathizers or anything remotely that dangerous. Maybe he'd left something at the diner, or…

Oh crap, what if he'd run into someone who wanted to discuss, in detail, the Auburn UFO? Hynek would be thrilled to go in-depth on his theories.

Quinn stared into the rearview mirror, feeling the irritation rise. The tiny sliver of street that he could see showed barely any activity on the pavement or sidewalk. If Hynek wasn't back by the time the cigarette was done, he'd have to go and find him. Damn.

A minute later, a flash of movement off to his left caught Quinn's attention. Hynek was jogging across the street, coming from the _opposite _sidewalk, a large paper bag clutched to his chest. He got into the car, slamming the door shut as he laid the bag in his lap.

"Where the hell did you go and what is that?" Quinn felt he was definitely within his rights to make the demand.

"Took longer than I thought to find them." Hynek grinned like a kid who'd just hit the jackpot at a candy store. He dumped out the bag.

"What? Are you getting a hamster?"

"Very funny." Hynek held up one of the several local newspapers now splayed across his lap. "Remember when the reporter said he was hoping to get the story in today's edition? Well, we made it." Hynek proudly turned the front page to Quinn.

The town had to be as dull as dishwasher because the lead story wasn't about politics or police arrests. Their impromptu visit to the little backwater town had made them front page news. 'Project Blue Agents Visit Hazelton!' was emblazoned in large bold font. A large photo of both himself and Hynek, and the happy contest winners wearing their Martian masks, took up a quarter of the front page. Yeah, he should have worn a tie.

"Why so many copies?" Quinn asked as he took a paper from Hynek's lap. He perused the article, flipping through the newspaper to page 14 where the story continued and there were two more photos, this time showing the happy faces of Marge and her grandchildren. As usual, the press embellished the facts far more than was necessary to sell papers, but besides one glaring error that didn't really matter, it was perfectly acceptable for their files.

"Well, one copy for our files," explained Hynek, "another we can clip from and add to the wall."

_The wall that was rapidly running out of room_. He was papering articles around light switches like some obsessed decorator. At some point one of the generals would stop by and say it was out of control, thought Quinn.

"One for OSU, and one for Joel," finished Hynek.

"He reads the paper?" Quinn wondered aloud, handing back the issue and starting up the car again.

"No, comics are more his speed, but…" Hynek's voice became softer as though lost in thought. "Everything I do is confidential. I can't really tell him the details of what I do, and half of it, I wouldn't even _want_ him to know about, not with the scrapes we've gotten into over the past year. And showing him that drawing of the Flatwoods Monster would just give him nightmares."

Quinn easily steered the car down the main street. He knew how hard Blue Book had been on Hynek's family, almost to the point of costing him his partner because of the secrecy and last-minute trips to small towns in the middle of the night. Not to mention Hynek going home with cuts, scrapes and bruises that were getting harder to explain.

"But this—" Hynek held up the paper as though it were a trophy, "is something that I can show him. He can even take it to school and show his friends."

Quinn nodded in silent agreement. Even he was limited to whom he could talk with due to the nature of his job. It had been that way until Hynek had joined Blue Book. Together, they could hash out the cases, regardless of how confidential the information might be. That is, when they weren't withholding something from the other, or yelling at each other. Oddly enough, they were working better together _after_ that fight in the file room. They still hit bumps along the way, but he couldn't conceive of Blue Book now without Hynek at his side.

The car hit a stretch of open road. Houses were spread further apart with more open land and trees taking up the passing landscape. Quinn pressed down on the gas pedal. "So, you're fine with the article, then?"

"Hmm? Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Hynek was back to writing something in his notebook.

"I'm going to frame the photo," continued Quinn. "Put it up on the wall."

"Not just tape?" pondered Hynek curiously.

"You haven't read the article yet, have you?" Quinn finally pushed.

"I was just finishing some case notes." Hynek sounded a little annoyed, but his displeasure ratcheted off the scale when he actually read the smaller text in the article itself. "Hynek?!" he seethed.

"More like high neck." Quinn tried to keep a grin off his face but it was a lost cause. "H-i-g-h-n-e-k," he spelled out with excruciating precision, knowing exactly how much it would aggravate the man beside him.

"How could they make such an mistake?" Hynek jabbed a finger angrily at the egregious error and poked a small rip in the paper. "Whatever happened to professionalism in journalism?" He rapidly flipped through the pages to find the end of the article. "It's everywhere!"

"Did anybody even ask how to spell your name?"

"I- I don't know. I don't remember!" Hynek clenched the paper as though he wanted to strangle someone.

"Hey, don't mangle our office copy," warned Quinn lightly. "Look, when we get to the airport, we'll give them a call, they can print a retraction."

Hynek stuffed the newspapers back into the bag as though they were now bird cage liner. "It's not the same."

Quinn couldn't believe how slighted Hynek came across, but then again, he could. Hynek had made some pretty serious demands to join the project. He could be painfully obsessed with details. He'd made it more than crystal clear to Quinn before the fight in the office that it was _his_ research, _his_ terminology and _he_ wanted credit. Quinn really couldn't blame him. It was a brand-new field, something that in the future could be monumentally important for all he knew.

"The pictures came out pretty good though," Quinn mentioned off-handedly.

"Well…."

"And you got your kid a genuine hand-made Martian mask," added Quinn. "I don't think he's going to care if the press misspelled your name. It's not the first time it's happened, I'm sure."

"True," Hynek grudgingly acknowledged.

"And if your kid doesn't want the mask, I can put it on the wall." Quinn smiled at the thought. "Right next to the framed article."

Hynek arched an eyebrow in response. "General Harding would nail your hide to the wall if you put that mask up in the office."

"Too Halloween?"

"Definitely," agreed Hynek.

The car's engine sounded smooth. Much better than their previous rental. "So, are you done with the report so I can rewrite it?"

Hynek huffed superiorly at the suggestion. "Almost, and there's nothing to rewrite. I just want to verify some information on the goat."

"It was a goat." Quinn was puzzled. "What's there to verify?"

"Different breeds have slightly different vocalizations."

"Which will mean nothing for our report," Quinn pointed out quickly, happy to see a road sign indicating mileage to the airport. They weren't that far into the boonies that signs didn't exist. "Goat, water tower, weather stuff, done."

"This is why I like to write the reports," said Hynek.

"And that is why I like to simplify them," added Quinn, ignoring the smile he saw plastered on Hynek's face. "The Generals aren't going to care if the goat was tan or female or from France."

"Why would its nation of origin matter?" Hynek shook his head.

Quinn shot a glance at Hynek. "No more than how it bahs or whatever."

"Goats bleat."

Quinn remembered the creepy noise that the goat had made. A neighbor had caught it the next day eating his prized rosebush. No wonder the guy had freaked out when he'd heard it in the darkened yard, but Quinn sure wasn't going to say that to Hynek.

And then that's what he realized was going on. A quick side glance confirmed his suspicions. Hynek had a hint of a smirk on his face. Damn, the Doc was yanking his chain. Well, two could play at that game.

"Bleats, bahs, whatever goats do." Quinn took a drag on his cigarette, flicking the ash out the open window. "Tell you what, Doc. I'll check out your report tomorrow, and add whatever edits are necessary." He held up a finger without even looking at Hynek, knowing the man was not overly fond of what he once referred to as a 'hatchet job' in the beginning of their partnership. "I've got some work to catch up on, and since tomorrow is Sunday, you take the day off and spend some time with your family."

"Oh, well, thank you," said Hynek, somewhat surprised.

Quinn smiled to himself. The report was going to be short and sweet; no more than two pages max as that's all it merited, and he'd type it up himself. No use dragging Faye into his plan.

A hint of a smile graced Quinn's lips. He'd just change every mention of 'Dr. Hynek' to 'Dr. Highnek'. Monday morning was going to be interesting.

FINIS


End file.
